Ivan Ivanovich sighed.
“He hardly got off alive, he says.... They were both angry and drunk.... He ran to the house where he was living, grabbed his wallet, and off into the woods.... Since then, he says, he’s been wandering.... But, another time, he really ... tells something else.”
He came nearer to me and wanted to tell me something very confidentially. But suddenly out of the darkness near us came the figure of Andrey Ivanovich. He walked rapidly with a deliberately menacing scowl.
“Come here, if you please.” He took me aside and whispered:
“You and I are in a nice mess!”
“How?”
“This Avtonomov, the monk, seems to have gone off to steal.... We’ll get into trouble over him yet....”
“That’s enough, Andrey Ivanovich.”
“Yes, for you. Did you hear what he asked in the village? Of the soldier’s wife? About a certain clerk? Is the clerk actually at home or not?”
“Yes, I remember.”